


The Bandaged Shoulder

by JoyfullyDreadful



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Will Graham, Hallucinations, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Someone Help Will Graham, Will Graham Has Encephalitis, Will Graham Loves Dogs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:28:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25000924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoyfullyDreadful/pseuds/JoyfullyDreadful
Summary: He’s tired of this. Of being watched by people the way a hunter watches a deer. They view him through the bars like patrons at a zoo, analyzing his every move. He is tired of being analyzed, of being watched by others like they’re just waiting for him to snap.“The second I get out of here,” he thinks, “I’m going to go far away. Somewhere people won’t be able to analyze me anymore.”[ON TEMPORARY HIATUS DUE TO SCHOOL, WILL RESUME SHORTLY]
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 26
Kudos: 143





	1. The Beginning of an End

He’s tired of this. Of being watched by people the way a hunter watches a deer. They view him through the bars like patrons at a zoo, analyzing his every move. He is tired of being analyzed, of being watched by others like they’re just waiting for him to snap. 

_“The second I get out of here,”_ he thinks, _“I’m going to go far away. Somewhere people won’t be able to analyze me anymore.”_

\-------

His getting out comes sooner than he thought it would. They found new evidence, things that exonerate him. So they set him free, Frederick Chilton sending him off with his personal goodbye. As he steps out the door, he smiles to himself. Soon he’ll never have to deal with that man again. He also realizes at that moment he doesn’t have a car, or a phone to call anyone. The FBI took that from him when the investigation began, and he doubts he’ll be getting it back anytime soon, if at all. A nurse steps out of the building then, most likely just finishing up her shift. A look at her name tag tells him her name is ‘Carolyn Wright’. He throws on his best smile and takes a step towards her, trying to appear as small as possible. “Excuse me, ma’am,” he begins, the southern politeness of his childhood taking over, “would you mind if I used your phone to call a cab ?” She studies his face for a moment longer, probably trying to decipher exactly what type of crazy he is, before giving him a nod and a smile of her own. 

She digs her phone out of her purse, which is large, larger than he thinks any bag should be. “Here you go, honey.” The way she says it tells him she’s from the south too. It’s her accent, and the pure politeness that coats her words that gives her away. He takes the phone from her gently, dialing the number for the taxi from memory. He had to use it quite often in his young adulthood. He makes the call, quick as ever, and hands the phone back to her. He doesn’t know why she does what she does next, maybe she sees how lost he looks. She digs out a piece of paper and a pen from that too-large purse of hers and writes down her name. Beneath it, she puts a phone number. “Here honey, take this. You call me if you need anything, alright?” she hands him the paper with another smile, sweetness coating her voice, “I don’t work on weekends, or at night. I’ll be there if you need anything.” She gives his arm a good squeeze, and turns to walk off towards what he assumes is her car. He wonders if she does this with every sad-faced soul that walks out of the hospital, or if he’s just special. Something in his gut tells him it’s the latter.

By the time the taxi pulls up, he still has no plan as to where he’s going to go. Still, he surprises himself by the address he rattles out. Soon enough, he finds himself standing on the doorstep of one Freddie Lounds. He’s told the taxi to wait outside. He doesn’t plan on being here long. She opens the door when he knocks, and it’s clear from the look on her face that he’s the last person she expects to see. Still, she smiles at him. “Will Graham. Come here to kill me?” she asks, a humor to her words letting him know that she doesn’t mean anything by it.

That doesn’t stop the unease that floods through his body when he hears them.

Nonetheless, he answers her with a smile of his own. “Hey, Freddie. Mind if I come in?” He tries his best to lace his words with that southern politeness that he was taught growing up. Still, there’s a hesitation to her answer that lets him know that she’s still scared of him, even if she doesn’t think that he’ll kill her. He hates the tiny inkling of pleasure he feels upon knowing that he has the ability to put fear into others.

She opens the door wider, just enough for him to squeeze by, and they make their way to the main room in silence, the sound of their footsteps mixed with their breathing becoming a soft harmony to fill the void their silence creates. “Would you like a drink?” she asks finally, the need to fill the void taking over. Ha shakes his head and moves to look out the window. He can’t stay long, he doesn’t want to keep the taxi driver waiting. Besides, he has work to do.

“So, what can I do for you, Will? I assume you didn’t just drop by for a friendly visit.”

“I need a favor from you.”

“Oh? What, you need me to write another article to catch someones attention? You have another fan you want to talk to?”

He looks over at her fully for the first time since entering her home., making eye contact with her. “Can you...not write about me anymore? Or Abigail. I’m done with this life. You’ve already ruined it enough, and I don’t need you ruining it for future me. Please.”

Maybe she sees something in his eyes that makes her take pity on him. Maybe she’s just too scared to say no. Or maybe she allows a bit of human to escape from the creature she’s so carefully crafted as a shell. No matter the reason, she agrees, and when he looks at her he can tell she really means it. He’ll have to remember to get her something as a thanks. He’s heard that gifts are a good way to show gratitude. 

He leaves her house with the shake of a hand, signifying the sealing of a deal. A large number of “Thank you’s” have already spilled from his lips by the time her front door closes behind him. He turns and makes his way back to the taxi, mentally preparing himself for the next destination. 

\-------

His next stop is home, where he’s already arranged to meet with Alana when she drops off his dogs. He arrives just as she lets them out for a run, and the enthusiasm with which they greet him fills his heart with joy, the likes of which he had only felt once since entering the hospital, when he learned it was a strong possibility that Hannibal Lecter would be killed. It’s a shame, he thinks, that said joy was crushed almost as soon as it began. 

Alana follows closely behind the dogs, and he gives her the best smile he can manage. He looks at her face and he realizes that he won’t miss her at all when he’s gone. She looks at him for a moment, and he knows that she’s analyzing him. He is tired of being analyzed. She finally returns his smile with one of her own. “Hey Will,” she says, voice soft, “How are you?” For reasons he doesn’t know, the question sends a jolt of anger through him. She knows how he is. She’s one of the people who put him in that damned institute in the first place.

“I’m fine.” he lies, reaching down to pet his dogs. That’s when he notices a new addition to the group at his legs, a dog he’s never seen before. “Who’s this?” he asks, punctuating the sentence by extending his hand for the animal to sniff. It seems to like him, so he scratches her behind the ears. she wags her tail at him. He likes dogs for that reason. Dogs don’t judge you for your past. They judge you only by the present, by how you treat them.

“That’s Applesauce. She’s mine.”

“Picking up my bad habits I see.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s a bad habit,” she replies with a chuckle, letting it die off almost as quickly as is had started. Silence fills the space, the early warning sign of a question he knows he’s not going to want to answer. She looks around as if preparing herself, and he knows the question is coming. “Is Hannibal safe, Will?” He knew the question was coming but that doesn’t make answering it any easier. 

No, he tells her. He doesn’t want to lie to her. Not when he knows this is very likely the last time he’s ever going to see her. He can’t tell her that Hannibal is safe because he isn’t sure what he’s going to do if he ever sees the man again. Hannibal is the one unpredictable thing in his life.

She gives a sigh, and he knows that that was the answer she expected. It just wasn’t the answer she wanted. “Goodbye Will,” she whispers, voice soft as she turns to leave, leashing Applesauce to guide her with her. He just raises a hand to send her off, not trusting his own voice to reply. He stays outside until he can no longer see the speck of her car in the distance. 

He turns to go inside, his army of dogs trailing behind him. He takes a deep breath and enters through the front door. It’s clear right away that someone had tried to quickly pick up the mess left behind by the FBI. They hadn’t done a very good job, but that’s okay. He wouldn’t be here very long anyway. They had taken everything with them, save for a couple of things. They left his utensils, a couple of fishing poles. Miscellaneous objects scattered about here and there. He spots his phone sitting on his table next to piles and piles of mail. He doesn’t bother to look at it. He’ll have a new one soon enough, and he finds himself not caring about any messages that could be on it. 

He watches the dogs sniff around, and he sighs. He has a lot of work to do. He doesn’t have many objects that hold meaning for him, so when he leaves most of it will be thrown away. Still, he has some things he wants to take with him. Just a few things, here and there, things that will fit easily in his car. And his dogs, of course. He could never leave his dogs behind. They are the only stability his life has. He makes his way over to the table and sits down. He has to start somewhere, and the mail is as good a place as any. 

\------------

He went through the mail for what felt like hours, most of it being bills with some junk mail mixed in there. He carefully separates the mail into two piles, which he dubbed “Throw away” and “Read then throw away”. He gets up from the table slowly, his bones creaking from years of abuse. He heads to the closet and gets a trash bag, something he’s glad to see the FBI had left behind. He returns to the kitchen and sweeps all of the “Throw away” pile into it, turning to survey the rest of the house. He starts with the kitchen, trashing almost everything. He fills the trash bag almost immediately. He grabs another one and sighs. He has a long week of work ahead of him.


	2. The Next Steps

Cleaning up the house turned out to be an easier task than expected. There wasn’t much left to go through, thanks to the FBI. He threw away basically everything; all he kept were a couple fishing rods, some things for the dogs, and a couple small things here and there, things like the rare gift from his father. The bills he had received had long since been thrown out, he knew they had already been paid. He had them set up to automatically draw from his savings account, and he had plenty of money in there. He wasn’t the type of person to spend money on things that held no purpose to him. He very rarely buys any sort of trinket, so he very rarely spends large amounts of money. 

He was on his third day of cleaning now, activity that was as pleasing as it was boring. He found it more exhilarating than anything, a reminder that soon he would be free from the life that he hated oh so much.

A knock from the door pulled him from his task of picking up the last few things he no longer needed. He made his way to the door, unsurprised when he opened it to see one Jack Crawford standing there. He had been expecting the visit, after all, he hadn’t checked his phone once since his release from the institution. If anything, he’s surprised it took the other man as long as it did to come seeking him out. He expected to hear from him almost immediately. He supposes he has Alana, and probably Hannibal as well, to thank for his few days of peace. Maybe he’ll send them a thank you card once he’s left this place behind. 

“Hey there Jack,” he says, holding the door open only enough for his face to peek through, “What can I do for you?”

“We need to talk, Will.”

He lets out a sigh, stepping outside his house and onto the porch, careful not to let any of his dogs out behind him. “Then talk. I’m listening.” He had been expecting this but that doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t want to have the conversation he knows is coming. 

“We need you for a case, Will. I need to borrow your imagination again.”

**“No,”** he replies, surprising even himself with the coldness that coats his words, “I can’t, Jack. Not now. I’m not ready for that, I can’t work with you. Not with Hannibal still out there.”

“We’ve been over this Will, Hannibal is not the Chesapeake Ripper, and he’s not the copycat killer.”

“Even if that were true, it doesn’t change the fact that I’m not ready to loan out my imagination quite yet.”

“Well, when will you be ready?”

“I don’t know” he replies, breathing out a laugh. He’s lying of course. He doesn’t plan on ever letting them use him again.

“Well the second you are, you better tell me.” and with that, Jack turns to leave, stopping at the bottom of the stairs to look back at him and say, “and learn to answer your damn phone every once in a while.” and he resumes his walk to his car. He waves a hand in goodbye before getting in.

He doesn’t wave in response. He just stares coldly, hands tucked away in his pockets, any warmth he had previously shown the man gone. He doesn’t want Jack Crawford to remember him warmly.

\---------------

He’s at the bank, moving all the money from his old accounts into a new one. He only needs one now, planning on using only cash in his new life. He’s less traceable that way. That’s the one thing he supposes Jack Crawford never thought of when he hired him. You spend enough time studying criminals, you’ll learn how to become the perfect one.

Once he’s moved all his money over, he withdraws enough to pay for a new phone and whatever few necessities he may need while he figures out the rest of his plan. He’d considered buying a new laptop too, but decides that can wait. He has more important things to worry about. He leaves the bank with a ‘Thank you’ to the employees. He’s going to miss them. They were always so kind to him the few times he’s had to speak to them.

\---------------

The phone he buys is simple. A smartphone, able to access the internet, but nothing too fancy. The employee selling it to him is much too excited, he thinks, but they don’t ask too many questions when he asks for a whole new number, a whole new  _ everything. _ They don’t even surprised when he pays in only cash, and it makes him wonder just how many people like him they encounter in a day. Based on their reactions to everything, he guesses the answer is probably ‘too many’.

He takes his new purchase home, and digs out a sheet of paper from under his mattress. He’s glad the FBI didn’t find it. It contains on it the only numbers he’s ever felt the need to save indefinitely. He needs to ad Carolyn’s number to it, he feels that he may soon have the need to call upon her. The person he needs is third on the list. The number has been there a long time, waiting for a day like this.

He takes the phone out of the bag it came in, the first piece of his new life, and dials the number. It only takes two rings for the person on the other end to pick up. “Hey Jocelyn,” he says, “It’s Will. I’m ready to sell my house now.” He can practically see her grin through the other side of the phone. 

“Hey Will. I’m so glad you called. Let’s talk.” replies Jocelyn.

He smiles. This is the second step towards his new life.

\---------------

It’s not hard to get his home listed. Jocelyn doesn’t even come over to inspect the house. She trusts his word as to its condition. The details are simple, things they had discussed long ago, pre-determined agreements. She gets a 6% commission rate, the place comes fully furnished with all the utilities, he won’t be there to sign in person. He plans on being long gone by then.

They hang up and he begins the third step towards his new life. He starts by taking the few items he wants to keep and fitting them in the car. Two duffel bags in the floorboard of the front passenger seat. Fishing rods tied to the top of his car, the items for the dogs stuffed into the remaining space in the front passenger seat. Then, the truly hard part begins. 

He has to find a place to stay until he finds himself a more permanent home far, far away from here. Somewhere they won’t think to look for him. The paper he had dug out from under the mattress sits on the table in the kitchen and an idea pops into his head. He grins, grabbing his phone and dialing the first number on the list.

“Hey, Daddy. It’s Will,” he says when the person on the other end finally answers, “How would you feel about me and the dogs coming down for a visit?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading ! And huge thanks to everyone who left a comment or kudos on the last chapter, it really does make my day !!!  
> I think I'm going to aim for a Wednesday updating schedule  
> Things will get more exciting, I promise. I'm not used to drawn out fics with lots of action and dialogue, I'm more of a reflection type fic writer, but I'm learning !!  
> As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated !  
> Be sure to check out my [tumblr](https://joyfullydreadful.tumblr.com/)


	3. Home

He’s going to his parent’s house, where he plans on staying until he finds a more permanent home. He’s leaving for their place tomorrow. He doesn’t think anyone will look for him there--his parents are the one aspect of his personal life he went to great lengths to hide. If he ever had to speak about them, he made sure to throw on an unhappy front. He wanted the others to think he didn’t have a good relationship with them. They are his one secret; his only salvation. 

He finds himself both nervous and excited to see them. He feels only excitement to see his father; he saves the nervousness for his mother. He hasn’t spoken to her in a long time, too scared of what he’ll find. He doesn’t want to know how deep into herself she’s fallen. He had to get his instability from somewhere, and he certainly didn’t get it from his father. He still loves her though. He doesn’t blame her for the things that she’s done.

There’s someone knocking on his door. It’s a familiar knock, one he knows all too well. He doesn’t have to open the door or look through the window to know that Hannibal Lecter stands on the other side. He seriously considers simply remaining at the table, not answering, and pretending he isn’t home. Another round of knocking starts up and he banishes the idea from his mind. The other man already knows he’s home. He lets out a long sigh, bones creaking as he stands to open the door. He had really hoped he would manage to escape without having to speak to Hannibal, but deep down he knew he would have to speak to the other man at least once before leaving.

He opens the door to reveal a smiling Hannibal Lecter. The sight makes him feel something that’s somewhere between disgust and joy-- though where the joy comes from he doesn’t know.

~~ Except that deep down he does know where it comes from. He just doesn’t want to admit it. ~~

“Hello Will,” says Hannibal, holding up a bag, “I hope you’re hungry. I brought dinner. May I come in?”

He pauses for a moment before answering, thinking of his near-empty house. Hannibal will know he’s going somewhere the second he sees it. There’s already a lie forming in his head in response to the questions he knows will come.

“Sure,” he replies, holding the door open so the other man can enter the house. The dogs rush up to him immediately, excited to see a new face. 

They make their way to the table, and he’s already mentally running through a list of excuses as to why he can’t eat the food the other man has brought. His list is cut short when Hannibal looks up at him to say “Don’t worry. Everything I’ve brought for you tonight is vegetarian. I wasn’t sure you’d be able to stomach meat again quite yet.” The older man finished the sentence with a grin and a knowing, teasing glint in his eye. The sight makes him sick. Hannibal is just toying with him at this point. 

~~ He pretends to hate the fact that it’s not a sickness he feels. It’s excitement.  ~~

He inspects his food thoroughly once he receives it, and though he sees no meat, he still doesn’t trust it. He eats it anyway, not wanting to draw too much extra attention to himself. He waits in anticipation for the questions he knows are coming, the story almost fully formed in his head. The other man may take his sweet time asking them, but he will ask them. Eventually. It’s the normal thing to do, and he assumes Hannibal still wants to maintain at least a small bit of his image of normalcy. 

“Where are you going, Will?” asks Hannibal, allowing him to relax. The lying has begun.

“I can’t stay here just yet. Eventually, I’ll be able to, but right now I just can’t. Not so soon after--” he glances at the sink, an added effect to his theatrics, “--it’s just too soon. So I’m staying at a friends place until I can handle it again.”

“I wasn’t aware you had friends outside of work. You certainly never mentioned them in any of our sessions.”

“She’s a new friend. She worked at the institution, her name is Carolyn. Carolyn Wright.” he doesn’t know why he tells the other man her full name.

~~ Except that he does. He just pretends he doesn’t. ~~

“Well, I’m glad that you’re making friends,” replies Hannibal, tone indicating that the conversation is over. There’s a glint in the older man’s eyes that makes his stomach roll. Something bad is going to happen.

~~ He chooses to ignore the jolt of excitement that runs through him from knowing that. ~~

They finish their dinner in silence. They sit for a moment after they’ve finished before Hannibal clears his throat and stands, pushing his chair in as he does so.

“Well, I have to be going now. It was nice to see you, Will,” says Hannibal, gathering up the Tupperware he had brought. 

“It was nice to see you too, Hannibal, he replies, standing to walk the other man to the door. 

“Have a good night, Will,” says the older man as a form of goodbye.

“You too, Hannibal”

When the other man is almost to his car, he pulls out his phone and dials the newest number on his list.

“Hey, Carolyn. It’s Will. The guy you gave your number to outside the institution.”

“Well hi there honey! How are you?” asks the woman, her southern accent washing over him. It reminds him of home.

“I’m doing good, how are you?”

“Well, I’m doing good myself. Now, what can I help you with?”

“I need a favor from you, if that’s alright?”

“Of course it is honey! What would this favor be?”

“I’m going away for a little bit, but I didn’t tell my boss or coworkers where. I don’t want them trying to coerce me into going back to work before I’m ready. They may come asking about me. If they do, can you tell them that they just missed me? To help distract them from where I really am.”

“I most certainly can do that.”

“Thank you so much, Carolyn. It really helps me out,” he releases the tension in his body he didn’t even know he was holding once he receives the confirmation from her.

“Of course darlin’. I’m here to help.”

“Well. It’s getting late, and I don’t want to keep you. Thank you again. Bye.”

“Buh-bye hon. You have a good night now, and call me if you need anything else.”

“I will, ma’am.”

He pulls the phone away from his ear and hangs up. He takes a deep breath, rests his eyes for a moment before opening them again and smiling. The lie is complete. 

\---------------

It’s 4:10 in the morning and his alarm is blaring into the open room. He’s already snoozed it twice, and he desperately wants to snooze it again, but knows he shouldn’t. He has to leave soon if he wants to complete the almost eleven-hour drive to his parent’s house at a reasonable time. He also wants to avoid potentially running into someone as he leaves, and leaving early will help ensure that.

He rolls out of bed, bones creaking as he stands. The dogs still sleep on the floor surrounding his bed, and the sight makes him smile. He hopes they sleep for at least part of the drive. It would make the trip a lot easier.

He walks to the bathroom, careful to keep his steps quiet so as not to wake the dogs. They deserve to sleep for as long as possible. He enters the bathroom and looks in the mirror. He barely recognizes the man staring back at him. He brushes his teeth quickly, avoiding looking in the mirror the entire time. He throws the few items he has left in the bathroom into a bag he had set out on the counter the night before. He grabs the clothes he had already set out and changes into them, shoving his pajamas into the bag as well. He leaves the bathroom, bag in hand, and looks around. This is the last time he will see the place he called home for oh so long. 

He sets the bag on the bed, and begins the process of waking the dogs. He’d put their beds in the car the previous night, so they sleep on the floor. One by one, he gently shakes them awake, until they’re all stretching and walking to the door to be let out. He opens the door, walking out only after all of the dogs have. He locks the door behind him and walks to the car to get it running, and make any last adjustments while the dogs do their business. He throws the small bag from the house in the front passenger seat, where he’s managed to fit the rest of the items he’s taking with him into his new life.

He calls the dogs to him, and they come running up, clearly excited at the idea of going for a ride. He opens the back of the car, and they all hop in. Except for buster, who’s much too small to jump in on his own. He leans down and picks him up, putting him in the car. He looks at them in the car, tails wagging, and smiles. He truly does love his dogs. 

He closes the back of the car, and turns to look back at his old home. He whispers a final goodbye to his old life, and clubs into the car to begin the drive into his new one. 

\---------------

He stops four hours into the drive to grab breakfast and let the dogs stretch their legs. He stops at a dinky little gas station, where he knows no one will worry about what he’s doing. He grabs a muffin and a coffee, paying in cash before going back outside to release his dogs. He leashes them all, not wanting to rick one running off, and walks with them while slowly drinking his coffee. Once they’ve all relieved themselves, he loads them all into the car and climbs in himself. He briefly considers checking TattleCrime.com while he eats his muffin, but decides against it. He’ll save that for when he gets to his parent’s house. 

He finishes his breakfast and stretches, mentally preparing himself. He has a long seven hours of driving ahead of him.

\---------------

When he gets to his parent’s house it’s 4:48 in the afternoon, and he’s hungry. He hadn’t stopped to get lunch, too focused on finishing his drive. His father is sitting out on the porch, waiting for him when he pulls up. His mother is nowhere to be seen, but that doesn't surprise him. He gets out of the car, a smile already forming on his face as he begins to greet his father.

He walks around back to open his car and let his dogs out, and the second he does they rush up to his father. His father makes his way down the steps, and kneels to greet them. They're all over him, tails wagging so hard they're entire bodies shake. They were all overdue for a visit to his parents.

He walks up to his father, pulling him into a hug the second he reaches them. "Hey daddy," he says into his shoulder, "it's good to see you."

"It's good to see you too, kid."

He takes a glance at the house, where he has yet to see his mother. His father, as if reading his mind, says "She's inside right now. She's...not doing great, right now. An episode caught her off guard. Prepare yourself, son."

He takes a deep breath, and together with his father and dogs, he makes his way into the house. He can tell the second he steps into his house that his mother is going through an episode. She’s sitting in her old rocking chair, and the creaking of it reminds him of his childhood. She would just sit, for hours, staring at something they couldn’t see. 

“Hey, momma,” he says, “how are you?”

His mother looks over at him then, a moment of clarity clearing the cloud in her eyes, “Hey, Will. I’m good honey. How are you?”

“I’m good, momma.”

“That’s nice, honey. That’s nice,” she says, clarity leaving her face as she turns back to continue staring at the wall.

He sighs and stands, giving her arm a quick squeeze before heading to the kitchen where his father stands. 

“You hungry, boy?” asks his father, already preparing a sandwich.

“I sure am daddy,” he replies, sitting down at the table. His father sets down the sandwich in front of him, and takes the seat opposite him at the table. He digs into it immediately. 

His father watches him for a few moments, quiet. “So. How have things been, son?” he asks finally.

“They’ve been...interesting. You know about everything with the hospital, and all those people I didn’t kill.”

“I didn’t mean that. You know what I’m talking about, Will. Why did you really come here? It wasn’t just to visit.”

He lets out a long breath, leaning back into his chair before answering, “I needed to escape. I couldn’t be around those people, that place anymore. I’m not going back.”

His father nods in response, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “Well. Long as you’re happy,” he says, standing up and pushing his chair into the table, “I’m okay with whatever you do.” He puts a hand on his son’s shoulder then, giving it a squeeze before walking away. 

His father never was much one for conversations involving emotions.

He finishes his sandwich quickly, throwing his plate in the sink. He returns to the living room, where his dogs have already made a home around his mother. He sits down on the couch and remembers that he still hasn’t checked TattleCrime.com to see if Freddie has kept her promise of silence. 

  
  


He barely makes it onto the website before he sees something that makes his heart drop. It’s her most recent article, headlines  **“Chesapeake Ripper Strikes Again”** and below it is a picture of the most recent victims body. There’s a caption under it, reading  **“Carolyn Wright, 42-year-old, an employee at the Baltimore State Hospital For The Criminally Insane, seen here displayed to mimic the painting ‘** **_Pinkie’_ ** **by Thomas Lawrence.”**

He glances at the paintings that sit above the fireplace, and a conversation he’s had with Hannibal once enters his mind.

* * *

_ “When I was a child,” he says, “my mother’s favorite painting was Pinkie by Thomas Lawrence. She liked it so much, that my father commissioned an exact oil replica of it to be hung in our living room. Luckily, my mother wasn’t having an episode when it was gifted to her, and she truly seemed to appreciate it.” _

_ “What pushed your father to get the painting made?” asks Hannibal _

_ “It was a notion of his love for her. My parents always were hopeless romantics.” _

_ “Are they still hopeless romantics?” _

_ He pauses his pacing then to look over at Hannibal, “I don’t know,” he answers, “I don’t speak to them anymore.” He’s lying, of course, but the older man doesn’t need to know that. _

_ Hannibal writes the information in his papers before continuing the conversation. _

* * *

_ “This is not a murder,” _ he thinks, staring at the picture,  _ “this is a show of love.” _

~~ He pretends he doesn’t notice the pleasure pooling in the pit of his stomach at the thought.  ~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The mannerisms of Will and his parents are based on how people I know here in Alabama act.  
> I'm not going to specify what Will's mother suffers from, but many of the things she does or will do are based on stories my own mother would tell me about her father, who had paranoid schizophrenia.
> 
> Sorry this chapter is a day late, I got distracted and didn't have it finished by yesterday !
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated ! They make my day !
> 
> You can also follow me on [tumblr](https://joyfullydreadful.tumblr.com/)


	4. four

It’s been three days since Carolyn died. Three days since Hannibal told him he loved him. He likes to pretend he’s shocked that she’s dead, but he isn’t. Not really. He knew what he was doing when he told Hannibal her full name and how they had met. He just hadn’t thought it would happen so soon. He hadn’t really mentioned it to his father other than a brief “Don’t let mom look at the news if it involves the Chesapeake Ripper.” He didn’t want his mother to see that her favorite painting has become a killers muse, not when she was already having an episode. His father hadn’t questioned the warning, simply giving a nod in response. However, he took the advice to heart, and he checked the newspaper each day before giving it to his wife. His mother never used the TV on her own, so that wasn’t something they had to worry about.

He’s sitting on the porch with his father, like they’ve done every morning since he arrived, when his phone rings. He fishes it out of his pocket, and grins when he reads the caller ID. “Hey Jocelyn,” he says, “how’s selling the house going?”

“It’s going great, Will. I actually have a buyer lined up, which is why I called you! He’s wanting to pay in all cash, and I just wanted to check and make sure that was okay with you.”

“That’s alright with me. Who’s the buyer?”

“Some guy, he told me his name was Thomas. He’s real secretive like, maybe in his 40s. He seemed really eager to buy your house.”

He draws in a deep breath, feeling something, some emotion he can’t place, settle in the pit of his stomach. He knows exactly who’s buying the house, and his name sure as hell isn’t Thomas. “Well,” he begins, “it sounds like you have everything in order. Just send me the paperwork and I’ll scan you the signed copies. I’ll text you the account number for the money. Keep me updated.”

“Alrighty, I’ll get right on that!”

He ends the call with a sincere thank you, trying to fore as much kindness into the words as he can. He knows this is the last time he’ll ever speak to the woman.

~~He tries to ignore the fact that he knows exactly what’s pooling in the pit of his stomach. It’s a curiosity, an excitement to see how she’ll be displayed for him.~~

“So,” his father begins, “you sold that house of yours?”

“Almost. Just gotta sign a couple of papers,” he replies, casting a glance at the other man

His father looks back out into the open field before them, watching the dogs run around. There’s a thoughtful look in his eyes when he turns back to look at his son. “How soon are you leaving?” he asks, his tone leaving no room for argument. He knows he will be gone soon.

“Soon as I can find a place to stay, I guess.”

“Where would you go, boy?”

“I was thinking about Alaska. It’s far away from all of this. They’ve got small towns there, and I hear there’s good work in boat repairs. And,” he says, throwing a smile at his father, “I’d get to put those fishing skills you taught me to good use.”

"Would you still come down and visit us?"

There's a pause--a blissful moment fo silence before the answer neither of them like-- "I don't know"

~~Except he does know. The answer is no: he won't. He loves them, but he won't risk it. And he thinks deep down, his father knows the answer too.~~

"Well," his father says, standing, "you always have a place here, with us. No matter what, son." He walks into the house then, his limit for emotional conversations having been met for the day.

He watches his father leave, and there’s an ache in his heart. He’s going to miss sitting and talking with his father. He’ll miss the quiet morning spent watching his dogs run around. He gives a sigh, getting up to head inside himself. He needs to get that paperwork signed. He wants to be complete the last step of leaving his old life behind.

\---------------

He wakes that morning to a text from Jocely telling him that his house has officially been sold. He immediately checks his bank accounts to see if the money has been deposited and he grins when he sees that it has. He can finally start searching for a house.

There’s one problem though. He still hasn’t bought a laptop, and having one would make one much easier. He considers just using his parent’s computer, but decides against it. The thing is ancient. He’s surprised it still works. So, he needs to buy himself a laptop. He doesn’t want to buy it here though, that would risk someone potentially making the connection to his parents. He needs to go somewhere far to buy it, but close enough that he can make the trip in a day’s time. He thinks for a moment about the places that could be, and an idea pops into his head.

He’ll be going to Atlanta today.

He rolls out of bed, stretching as the dogs surrounding his bed start to wake. Even when they’re at a different house, they always sleep around his bed. They’re loyal that way, he supposes...He leaves his room to go to the kitchen, dogs following him, where he can smell his father making breakfast.

He sits at the table, and his father puts a plate of eggs and bacon in front of him. His father sits across from him, drinking a cup of coffee. He never eats breakfast.

“I’m going to Atlanta today, to buy a laptop,” he says as he eats.

“There’s stores around here son, what you going to Atlanta for?”

“It’s away from here. I don’t want anyone to be able to find me, you know that.”

“Well. You best get going after you finish eating, son. It’s a 6-hour drive there and back.”

“I know, daddy. I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

His father gets up from the table then, giving his shoulder a squeeze. He walks to the living room, where he can be heard faintly talking to his wife. He finishes his eating and puts his dishes in the sink, heading back to his room to change and freshen up.

He leaves the house with a goodbye to his parents, and a pat on each of the dogs’ heads. He groans as he looks at the car, not wanting to go on the three-hour drive. It’s worth it though, he thinks, the drive. It’s just the next step into his new life.

\---------------

He gets to Atlanta and realizes he has no clue where he’s going to buy his new laptop. He drives around for a bit and spots a small electronics store. That’s where he’ll go. But first, he needs to find an ATM. He has to pay in cash.

Luckily for him, there’s one right across the street from the store. He pulls in, glad to find that there’s no one else waiting. He withdraws the money he needs, and decides to just walk to the store instead of driving.

He can tell, the second he enters, that he’s probably not the first person to do what he’s doing here. He can tell from the way the employees immediately avert their eyes from his after the give him a once over, the way he’s the only one who enters that doesn’t get asked if he needs help. He’s thankful for that. He doesn’t like questions.

~~He pretends not to hear the thought of “Unless it’s Hannibal that’s asking them” that echoes through his mind.~~

He makes his way over to the laptops, looking at the cheapest options. He picks one and takes it to the desk to check out. The cashier is silent through the entire transaction, refusing to make eye contact. He still catches the glint of fear, of knowledge that glints in her eyes.

~~He tries to ignore his pleasure at the fear.~~

He says a small thanks to her, getting only a nod in response, and leaves. He makes his way to the car he’s left across the street, and once he arrives he throws the laptop into the passenger seat. He’ll wait until he’s home to open it. He bought it to search for a house, and that’s probably the only thing he’ll do with it for a while. That, and check out Freddie Lounds’ website. He wants to make sure she keeps her promise to him.

~~And he wants to keep up with what Hannibal is doing.~~

He starts his car, and begins the drive home. The next step has begun.

\---------------

When he arrives home, his father is sitting on the porch, and to his shock, so is his mother. He makes his way onto the porch, and to his joy, he sees pure clarity in his mother's eyes. He smiles at her, and she stands up and opens her arms in a response. He gently sets his purchase down on the porch and them he's diving into her arms, burying his face into her shoulder. She squeezes him tightly, and he feels a few tears slip down his face.

His mother is back.

He pulls back from the hug, and gives her a teary-eyed smile. She smiles back at him, a smile of pure joy, and says "Hey baby."

"Hey momma," he replies in a whisper.

"It's been a while, honey. Why don't we go inside and talk?"

"Yeah, yeah that sounds good," he says, picking up his purchase from the porch and following after his mother and father as they head inside.

His father heads to the kitchen, telling them he's going to prepare dinner. He knows that that's just what his father says, when really he just wants to give them space to talk.

They sit in the living room, and his mother reaches for his hand. He lets her hold it, giving it a squeeze.

"Your father's been telling me what you've been up to these past couple of days. He says you're looking for a new house?" She asks

"Yeah, I am. I was thinking something in Alaska." He replies, nodding to the laptop he's set beside him on the floor.

"Well, let's get looking. I'll help you out, honey. You always were awful at looking for a house."

He pulls the laptop box out of the bag, and then the laptop out of the box. He starts the work on setting it up. It doesn't take long, no more than 10 minutes, and then he has the browse open ready to start searching.

"So," says his mother, taking the laptop from him, l "what exactly are you looking for?"

"Something small, but with a yard for the dogs," he replies, watching her go to a website and start filtering things, "in a small town. Preferably near the water."

She continued use filtering for results, and when she's done, she hands the laptop back to him. There's over a hundred results, and he doesn't feel like looking through all of them. So he clicks on the first one listed. It's small, on an acre of land. It's in a town called Whittier. It's within his price range, and it's in a fishing community. He turns the computer back to his mother and says "I like this one."

She takes the laptop from him, giving it a review before replying "It seems good." She hands the laptop back to him and gives him a smile. "Well, go make the call honey."

He pulls out his phone, and dials the number listed. When they answer, he stands and says, "Hi, My name's Will Graham. I'm calling about a house you have for sale in Whittier, Alaska?"

"Yes! What would you like to know about it?" replies the woman on the other end as he makes his way to the porch to talk in silence.

"Would you be willing to hold it for me? I'm paying in cash, and I'll even throw in a little bit extra if you do."

"Of course I can! When would you get here?"

"It would be five or six days, at the least. I'm in Alabama now. I'll be driving."

"Well, I'll hold it for you. I haven't gotten any other offers on it, so it will definitely still be available when you get here!"

"Great! Thank you so much."

"Of course honey! Just text me your information and I can go ahead and start working on getting everything together"

"Alright, I'll do that. Thank you. Bye."

"Buh-bye."

He nags up the phone, texting his information to her. He puts his phone in his pocket and heads back inside. He smiles when he enters and sees his mother and father engaged in a lively conversation. His mother looks up when he enters and beckons him over. He walks over to her with a smile.

He has a lot to catch up on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uuh yeah IDK if this wednesday schedule is going to stick. I think I'm going to switch over to a "whenever I get the chapter finished" updating schedule.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are appreciated ! They really make my day.
> 
> You can find me here on [tumblr](https://joyfullydreadful.tumblr.com/)


	5. a goodbye

He’s missed this so much. The sitting and talking with his parents, both of them. He hasn’t been able to do that in a long time. Then again, he supposes, it’s mostly his fault he hadn’t done it a long time. He used to rarely visit, not wanting to reveal his parents to anybody, and when he did he rarely called ahead, meaning he often came during one of his mother’s episodes. 

He’s glad he’s getting to talk with them like this one last time before he ventures out into his new life. He knows that he probably won’t see them ever again, and if he does, a long time will have passed.

~~Time he isn’t sure his parents will survive.~~

He’ll be leaving for Alaska tomorrow, but he tries not to think about it too hard. He instead tries to focus on the present, where he sits on the porch with his parents. He fails, of course, unable to keep his mind from straying to the future. He tries to focus on his parents’ conversation, telling stories of his childhood, but his ears begin to ring and he finds himself unable to do so. He feels a hand grip his left one, and then one on his right. He doesn’t have to open his eyes to know his mother grips his left and his father his right. He knows the feel of their hands by memory. 

“I’m sorry,” he gasps out, hunching over as tears roll down his face.

“Oh honey,” he hears his mother say, feeling her hand come up to cup his face, “you don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

His father stays silent, but the hand he puts on his shoulder speaks volumes. They sit like that for a while, with him hunched over in his chair crying, his parents holding him, telling him that they’re there for him. He feels something wet press up to his elbow, and when he manages to crack his eye open, he sees that it’s Winston, loyal as ever. He gives a small smile at the sight. He casts a glance around him, and sees the rest of his dogs gathered around him as well. He gives a small sigh, one of happiness, and smiles a bit more. He really does love his dogs

He feels his mother give his hand a squeeze, and he looks up to meet her eyes. She gives him a smile, one that he can’t help returning with a smile of his own. He’s missed her smile. She gives his hand another squeeze before she stands and pulls him up with her. His father releases his hand and grabs his shoulder again.

“Come on son,” he says, “let’s go finish getting you packed up.”

~~ He knows that’s the other man’s way of saying goodbye, of saying it’s okay. He knows he will probably never see his son again. ~~

They head inside, dogs trailing happily after him, and together they head towards his room. He doesn’t have much left to pack, just a small couple of things. He hadn’t really unpacked to begging with. Nonetheless, he appreciated the sentiment. He’s going to miss the different ways his father chooses to show his affections. 

His dogs push their way into the room, laying on their beds the moment they can. He’ll pack those in the morning.

It doesn’t take long for them to pack the rest of his stuff. Once they finish, he sits on his bed, his parents doing the same. He looks around, trying his best to take everything in. He lets his eyes wander over the ceiling, to the walls where the decorations he’d put up as a teenager still reside. They wander over the floor, littered with his dogs, over to his window where he has a perfect view of the surrounding forest. He used to stare for hours out of his window when he was younger. Finally, he lets them wander to his parents, taking in every detail he can, from the way their clothes fold as they sit, to the pure emotion that fills their eyes. 

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and allows the sounds of soft breathing to wash over him. He wants to remember everything about this moment, every last detail of it.

~~ He tries to push away the thought of  _ “because this is the last moment like this you’re ever going to get.” _ ~~

~~ He fails. ~~

Tears threaten to fall from his eyes once again, but their journey is interrupted by his father standing and saying “Well. All that working sure did make me hungry. I’m going to make dinner, y’all want anything?”

He and his mother both say “yes” at the same time, and when they meet eyes they both grin. His mother stands and begins to follow his father out of the room, turning back to look at him.

“Are you coming, slowpoke?” she asks with a laugh.

He stands with yet another grin and follows her out of the room.  _ “Yeah,” _ he thinks,  _ “I definitely want to remember this” _

\---------------

His father cooks them a traditional southern breakfast for dinner. Breakfast always was one of his favorite dinners growing up. His father cooked it when he moves out, too.

He even cooks the dogs up some biscuits and gravy. “They’re the closest things ta grandchildren I’m gonna get outta you,” he says as a way of explanation, “I might as well spoil ‘em the same.” The dogs love it, of course, and he thanks his father profusely. He loves seeing his dogs happy.

Once they finish, his parents bid him goodnight, his mother sending him to bed with a kiss on the head and wishes of sweet dreams. He trudges to his room, dogs trotting after him, and prepares himself for the last night he will spend in the house he grew up in, the house he loved so dearly.

Once he gets to his room, he sits on the edge of his bed and looks out his window like he used to do when he was young. He starters into the surrounding trees, and for a second he swears he sees a stag with a dark figure standing next to it. Their eyes pierce into his soul. He blinks and then they vanish.

He lays down in his bed, back facing towards the window, and feels unease settle into his body. He takes a deep, shuddering breath and closes his eyes. His gut tells him his slumber will not be a pleasant one 

\---------------

He's already awake by the time his alarm goes off. He’d barely slept that night, instead spending his time staring at the ceiling or a wall. But never the window. He was too scared of what he might see if he looked out the window.

He sits up on the side of his bed and silences his alarm. He can tell his parents are already up by the soft laughs and the smell of food coming from the kitchen. He stands and stretches, bones cracking as he does. He smiles as he watches his dogs do the same around him. He makes his way to the door, and his dogs force their way out the second he opens it.

He walks quietly towards the kitchen, trying to hide his presence to keep from interrupting the moment his parents are having, despite knowing the effort is futile. The dogs have already made them aware of the fact that he’s awake. The pitter-patter of their nails on the floor can be heard all throughout the house, the jingle of their tags clinking together filling any silence that may have existed. The soft laughter of his parents stops when he enter the kitchen, replaced instead by smiles sent his way.

“Mornin’, son,” his father says, “how’d you sleep last night?”

“I slept well,” he lies in response. He doesn’t want his parents to worry about him.

~~ Doesn’t want their last memory of him to be one of worry. ~~

“Well, come, sit down,” says his mother, pulling out a chair at the table, “We’re making pancakes for breakfast!”

He makes his way to the table and he sits, watching his parents make breakfast together. He’s going to miss this sight most of all, he thinks. The sight of his parents working together, laughing together, was something that was so rare in his childhood, and when he got to see it he made sure to cherish it. He never knew when he was younger if it was going to be the last time he ever saw it.

~~ Now he does know that it’s going to be the last time he ever sees it. ~~

He’s pulled from his thoughts by a plate being set down in front of him. His parents take their own seats at the table, a plate full of pancakes in front of all of them. His mother and father both drench their pancakes in syrup, but he puts only a small bit on his own. He never did have much of a sweet tooth.

Breakfast is filled with smiles and laughter, stories of his childhood being told. His father finishes eating first, standing to put his plate in the sink. He calls the dogs to him then, grabbing a container he had set aside on the counter.

“What are you doing?” he asks

“Well, I know you don’t like giving the dogs their full meal the mornin’ of a big drive, so I thought I’d fix ‘em up their own pancakes.” his father replies, looking sheepish.

“Thank you. The dogs will love it,” he says, smiling at his father. He loves that about his father. No matter how much he tries to hide his emotions, they always peek through. His father really is a kind man. 

He turns back to his food, striking up another conversation with his mother. Conversation is the best distraction, and he needs one. He doesn’t want to think about what’s coming after he finishes his food.

\---------------

He’s standing in his empty room. He’s already loaded up the dogs beds. The only thing he has left are the dogs themselves. He looks to the one part of the room he had gone through so much trouble to avoid: the window. 

He stares into the wood, and he sees them again. The stag and the figure that seems to follow him are back, staring at him. The only difference is, this time he stares back. He stares into his eyes, and he thinks that they’re trying to tell him something. There’s knowledge in their eyes, a knowingness which had always craved.

A hand comes down on his shoulder and he jumps. He turns to look at it, and he finds his father standing there, concern in his eyes. 

“Whatcha’ lookin’ at, son?” he asks, clearly trying to keep the concern out of his voice. He fails. 

“Nothin’ daddy. I’m just thinking about all the memories I have here, that’s all,” he lies again. He’s getting really good at lying to his parents. 

~~ He tries to hate it, the lying. But he doesn’t. Not really. ~~

~~ He loves it. ~~

“Well, when you’re done thinkin’, come with me. I got something I wanna give you before you leave,” he finishes his statement with a squeeze on his shoulder before leaving his son to his thoughts. 

He throws one last look at the forest outside his window, finding himself some mixture of pleased and disappointed when he finds that the creatures have vanished. He takes a deep breath before leaving his room to follow his father.

He finds him in the living room, a fishing pole in hand. Upon closer examination, he realizes it’s his fathers favorite one, his self proclaimed ‘lucky rod’. 

His father notices his staring, and he gives him a grin. “She’s a beauty, ain’t she?”

“Yeah. She sure is,” he replies.

“Well,” his father says, walking over and putting the rod in his hand, “I want you to have her. She’s given me as much luck as she can. I think it’s time you get some luck of your own.”

He stares at his father, eyes wide, and opens his mouth to protest. His father never gives him the chance, shaking his head at him. They stand like that for a few moments, staring at each other before his father whispers “Aw, hell,” and suddenly he’s being pulled into a hug. He feels a slight wetness on his shoulder, and he knows his father is crying. The knowledge makes him start to cry too.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into the hug, “I love you.”

“I know.” his father replies.

They pull back from the hug as his mother enters the living room. His father wipes his tears away, and the two others in the room don’t mention them.

His mother opens her arms to him, and they’re both crying before the hug even begins. He pulls back from the hug, and together they all walk to the front door. They step onto the porch, and he calls all of his dogs out with him. He whispers one last goodbye to his parents, and he walks to his car, fishing pole in hand, dogs trailing after him. He ties the pole to the top of his car first before opening up the back and loading in the dogs.

He climbs into the front seat, turning back to give his parents one last wave before closing the door. He begins the drive to his new life.

He’s at the end of the driveway, out of sight from his parents, when the thought of the stag returns to him. He thinks of the knowledge in its eyes, and an idea pops into his head. He pulls out his phone and loads up Freddie’s website. He sees the words  **“Chesapeake Ripper”** in the title of her most recent article and he opens it. His eyes go immediately to the picture, where a familiar face sits. He doesn’t need to read the caption to understand the photo but he does anyway. 

**“Jocelyn Daniels,”** it reads,  **“57-year-old Real Estate Agent, seen here poses to mimic the painting** **_‘The Blue Boy’_ ** **by Thomas Gainsborough.”**

He doesn’t bother reading the rest of the article, instead thinking of the other half the conversation he once had with Hannibal.

* * *

_ “What about gifts your mother gave your father?” asks Hannibal _

_ “The next time she was okay,” he replies, walking around the office, “She commissioned an exact oil replica of my father’s favorite painting.” _

_ “And what painting would that be?” _

_ “The unofficial companion to Pinkie, the painting The Blue Boy by Thomas Gainsborough.” _

_ “What did your father think of it?” _

_ “He loves it, of course, but mother had fallen back into another episode and was unable to appreciate his joy.” _

_ “That’s very interesting,” says Hannibal, writing down more things in his notebook. _

* * *

He finds himself laughing at the memory. It’s not a laughter of joy, but instead of hysteria.

He tries, he tries oh so hard to be disgusted by the things Hannibal has done for him. However, he finds that he can’t. He feels something by the actions, but no matter how hard he tried he can’t turn that feeling into disgust. 

~~ He’s flattered. He loves that Hannibal has done these things for him. He tried to push the thoughts away. ~~

~~ He fails. ~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah ! It's been a hot minute since I last updated ! I'm so sorry for that, my personal life has been getting in the way. First my chronic pain and migraines were acting up, then my dog got sick, then i got broken up with which caused my mood disorder to act up again so it was hard for me to be able to sit down and write. But I'm back in action now !  
> I'm going to try (key word try) to get another chapter out this week because I'm going to be out of town next week and unable to update.  
> As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated, they make my day !  
> You can also find me on [tumblr](https://joyfullydreadful.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this first chapter is so short. My grandpa died while I was writing it, so I decided to end it a bit early.  
> Also, this is my first time writing a multi-chapter fic, so my updating schedule isn't yet set in stone because I'm still figuring things out !!  
> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated, they make my day !!  
> Be sure to check me out on [tumblr](https://joyfullydreadful.tumblr.com/)


End file.
